second trap. His heart was pounding and he took several deep breaths in order to help it calm down.
When the first snowmobile came blazing past, he slashed the cord. The young tree did exactly what it was supposed to do, pulling the wire wrapped around a much sturdier tree taut. What Harvath hadn’t been expecting, though, was that the second rider would be following so closely behind the first.
There was a loud twang as the snowmobiler hit the wire, which was hung across the trail like a clothesline at chest height, and he was instantly decapitated.
His sled went sailing into the woods, hitting several trees before landing mangled and upside down.
The lead rider must have noticed something had happened—maybe, out of the corner of his eye, he had seen the beam of his colleague’s headlight as it bounced off into the forest—because just as his machine drew even with the other trap, he turned and looked behind him.
Either Harvath had set it too low, or this guy was too tall, because instead of having his head sliced clean off, the wire cut off his arm and sliced into his torso.
He was thrown clear of the snowmobile, which managed to stay on the trail until it glided to a stop.
Harvath looked and listened, but there were no other snowmobiles. Leaping from his hide, he ran from the woods and up to the trail to the mercenary who lay bleeding out in the snow.
He could have shot the man from where he was, but he was unsure how far the sound would carry and how close the rest of them were. Instead, he slung his shotgun and closed in on him with his knife.
Even before he drew even with the man, he knew there was no saving him. Not even a tourniquet would have made a difference. In addition to losing his arm and slicing open his chest, the wire must have snapped up as he was thrown from the snowmobile and cut into his neck, severing a major artery. He was spurting blood like an out-of-control sprinkler.
Harvath made sure to not get too close and kept one eye on the man’s hands. The mercenary, though, didn’t attempt to reach for his weapon.
Under the glow from the night vision goggles, Harvath watched as the life left the man’s eyes. There was no need to plunge his knife into him. The job had already been done. Harvath’s challenge now was to figure out what to do next.
He didn’t bother to wait for the good idea fairy to strike. Instead he raced back to retrieve his rucksack and stripped the two dead mercenaries of anything of value to his survival. In that category, there was a ton.
He helped himself not only to their weapons, but also to their ammo-packed chest rigs, four fragmentation grenades, the decapitated man’s winter coveralls, which, because of how his body had landed, had only minimal bloodstains, and best of all, one of their helmets rigged with night vision goggles.
In almost any other situation, he would have booby-trapped the bodies with the frag grenades. He was afraid, though, that one the villagers might come along and get hurt. So leaving the dead soldiers where they were, he gathered up the rest of his equipment and ran down the trail to the remaining snowmobile.
He secured the gear as best he could and was preparing to take off when he heard a sound that shook him to his core.
The helicopter was coming.
CHAPTER 52
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It was make or break time. When that helicopter landed, he had no idea how many men would be pouring out of it or how they’d be equipped. Would they be on foot? On skis? Or all on snowmobiles? There was no way of knowing.
What he felt certain about, though, was that they had located Sini’s house in Friddja. That meant either Christina had described it to them, or more than likely, they had brought her along to make the identification in person.
Once they had found Sini’s, they had probably found her husband, which was why they were inbound to Adjágas.
And just as he suspected that Christina had been dragged along, the Wagner mercenaries had probably brought Sini’s husband as well. His job would be to help them identify Jompá’s cabin.
What the mercenaries planned to do with their hostages was anyone’s guess. Harvath knew they were not going to let Christina go—not after she had aided his escape. This left him with a serious problem.
Either they